


burden and blame

by CapriciousCrab



Series: burden and blame [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Barkeep Phil Lester, Gambler Dan Howell, Historical, Letters Home, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Sexual Content, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 11:13:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15728256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapriciousCrab/pseuds/CapriciousCrab
Summary: He never meant to stay.A man who makes his coin at the tables, Dan's learned the hard way not to stick around after pocketing his winnings. Then he met a fragile barman and everything changed.





	burden and blame

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t care if he’s guilty, don’t care if he’s not  
> He’s good and he’s bad and he’s all that I’ve got  
> -Devil's Backbone, Civil Wars

April 15, 1852

_Hello mum,_

_Well, I've settled here in a dusty little town in Nevada. It's a smaller town newly settled by miners passing through the area looking for a claim to stake and holds the usual assortment of establishments one finds in these sorts of boom-towns. I'm staying at a perfectly respectable lodging house, and my room is both clean and homely. The charge is only two dollars a week and includes laundry services, so I find it to be quite reasonable._ _I find it unlikely that I will remain here for long, however. There is a rough group of men loosely led by a man named George Stanton. There's a shady character if I've ever met one! I find myself reluctant to get on his bad side and barring any change in circumstances, will likely move along before long..._

 

The Prospect Saloon was like any other in these penny-a-dozen mining towns that sprang up in the wake of the gold rush. Hastily constructed and minimally decorated, it wasn't anything like the pubs he knew back East. No paper covering the walls, no fancy lighting; just rough-hewn slabs of siding and kerosene lamps set about the tables. The smell of stale cigar smoke and the taste of the dirt that was ever present in the air made him once again question the sanity in staying here.  
  
“Look, Howell. Are you gonna play or are you just gonna sit there and stare at Blue? I ain't got all night.”  
  
The angry words spoken in a rough voice had Dan snapping his attention back to the man sat across the scarred table from him. George Stanton wasn't the type of man Dan wanted to get on the bad side of. Mean and short-tempered, with a quick draw and twitchy trigger finger; he was the self-appointed leader of Prospect, Nevada. He did as he pleased and anyone who crossed him ended up dead.  
  
Dan had never intended to stay this long in this tumbledown frontier town. He much preferred to win at the tables and then ride out before the losers tried any funny business. But despite the danger inherent in lingering in the same place for too long, he couldn't bring himself to pack up and go. And the reason was standing behind the bar.  
  
He let his eyes meet Stanton's, his eyebrow lifting in satirical amusement as he examined his cards again before discarding two. He waited while Stanton dealt the last round and leaned back in his chair, a picture of casual relaxation. He kicked out his long legs, clad in dusty Levi's and admired his new boots and the way they gleamed in the smoky light. Vain perhaps, but Dan enjoyed spending a bit on the finer things.  
  
“And here I was going to buy you a whiskey,” Dan drawled. “Care for a shot?”  
  
He looked over at the bar and caught the eye of the man there. He was a slight, pale young man with wild black hair and bright blue eyes. He had a long, slim build and a delicate face that combined to give him the appearance of an elfin, fairytale creature. Melancholy and quiet, he went by Blue to everyone who passed through the saloon.  
  
Except for Dan.  
Dan knew him as Phil.

***

  
May 29, 1852

_Hello mum,_

_I hope this letter finds you in good health and comfort. I have wired a deposit to the local bank for you and the household to draw from. I can picture you wagging your finger at me in dismay, but the money was come by honestly._  
_You may be surprised to hear that I am still lodging in Prospect, Nevada. I know my last letter to you mentioned my desire to continue my travels, but I have made an acquaintance I wish to learn more about. I will admit that I offended him greatly upon our first meeting and wish to make amends. He has the look of a story about him and you know how much I enjoy a good story. In any case, I shall not rest until I have earned his forgiveness..._

 

Dan had first met Phil months ago when he was feeling randy and attempting to negotiate a back-alley upright. He'd heard that the barkeep could be had for a few coins, but he had looked Dan over with those sad, blue eyes and bluntly stated that his ass wasn't for sale.  
  
“I can frig you off or give it to you French, but I won't fuck you,” he'd said, quietly defiant as he folded thin arms across fragile ribs. “I don't do that.” He'd turned partially aside then as if expecting an angry blow. His face was pale, with humiliation bringing a crimson flush to his cheeks and Dan felt shame fill him as he watched this broken young man cringe away while expecting to feel a violent hand.  
  
“Hey. Hey, it's okay. You don't have to be afraid; I'm not angry,” Dan murmured, trying to keep his voice soft and gentle. “I'm sorry. I've insulted you greatly.”  
  
He reached out and lets his hand land on the shoulder of the man in front of him. He didn't shift away, and Dan waited until he made eye contact once again.  
  
“I truly am sorry. Can I buy you a coffee to make amends? Or perhaps some supper?”  
  
Those eyes searched his for an interminable time, and Dan found himself holding his breath waiting for his reply. He's not sure why this was so important to him but he felt drawn to this man in a way he didn't understand, some protective instinct he never knew he had stirred to life.  
  
His reply came in a whisper, “That would be nice. Thank you.”  
  
“My name's Dan,” he said as he slid his hand down a slender arm, taking that hand in his own and giving it a cautious shake.  
  
“Everyone here calls me Blue,” the young man said hesitantly. He paused and let his eyes search Dan's face before continuing.  
  
“But you can call me Phil.”

***

  
August 11, 1852

_Hello mum,_

_I was thrilled to receive your letter last week and am pleased to hear that all is well at home. I do indeed miss you all very much but I am also enjoying my time here on the edges of the goldmines. I know you disapprove of gambling and the way I earn my coin so I shall not say much of that again._  
_You'll be happy to hear that I have earned the forgiveness of my new friend. His name is Phil, and his is indeed a sad story. He is all alone in the world now and doing his best to get by but it's a rough land out west and he's of a more delicate sensibility. He's not afraid of hard work, but he is a gentle soul who has been oft taken advantage of. I'd like to help ease his way a bit if I can. Mum, I've come to care for him a great deal..._

 

He'd made it a point to greet Phil whenever they met: whether it was at the General Store where he found him spending his coins on a handful of sweets or at the saloon slinging drinks while avoiding drunken advances by miners and gamblers alike. It had set his teeth to grinding the way the men would talk to Phil, insulting or propositioning him in turn while Phil turned a deaf ear to it all, bearing it in stoic dignity.  
  
There was something he found compelling about Phil, something that went beyond the inky-black mop of hair and his slender frame. It was a wounded fragility, a shattered pride that made Dan want to ease his burdens and make him smile. So he set out to win him over.  
  
One evening he brought him penny candy wrapped in a tidy twist of wax paper and slipped it into the palm of his hand while paying for his whiskey. Watching Phil sneak the treats into his mouth throughout the night made him smile, pleased to have chosen well. Another afternoon had him pressing a small, leather-bound book into his hands. It was one of Dan's favorites and he thought perhaps Phil would enjoy reading it. The sight of those eyes looking up at Dan in startled gratitude made warmth bloom in his chest, filling him with happiness.  
  
They soon took to talking over cups of coffee before the start of Phil's evening, spending time in the dining hall laughing over the sillier bits in the local paper or inventing stories about the locals who would pass through. They became fast friends, only spending time apart while Dan worked the tables and Phil worked the bar, often walking back to the boarding house together at the end of the night.  
  
The next time Dan invited Phil to supper; he accepted readily and with a shy smile. They lingered over coffee and thick slices of molasses pie, catching themselves staring a bit too long before looking away. And later, when they were stood outside of Dan's door with their hands brushing together discreetly, Dan invited him in.  
  
Phil had nodded his head, stepping into Dan's room and as the door closed behind him, he tilted his face up to accept the kiss being pressed to his lips.

***

  
October 10, 1852

_Hello mum,  
_

_Yes, I'm still here in Prospect and Yes, I promise that I am still being cautious. There's a Marshall staying here in town keeping George Stanton on the straight and narrow, which means a measure of relief for now. I'm not unaware of the dangers of lingering so long in one place, as losers at the tables are wont to get angry, but as long as Phil desires my companionship I will stay._  
_I wish you could meet him, Mum, I think you would like him immensely. Mayhap one day I'll bring him home with me and you can take to feeding him all manner of sweets, for never has a man enjoyed them more than my Phil..._

 

The October air was still and hot, drying up the land to leave a layer of dust covering anything that stood still long enough to be coated. The late-season heat spell had everyone on edge; irritable and easily riled, so they were taking extra precautions to avoid trouble by spending all of their free time in Dan's room.  
  
They were always careful to be discreet. Fucking other men was tolerated here in the west when women were scarce, however loving another man was still considered an abomination. But they couldn't get enough of each other and they tumbled about in Dan's bed, wrestling and sliding against each other as bodies warmed with desire and hands roamed each other eagerly. They'd discovered that Phil enjoyed ceding control between the sheets and Dan? Well, Dan discovered he thoroughly enjoyed doing the controlling.  
  
Phil made to rise from the bed, Dan's sweat-dampened hand sliding along his naked hip. Before he could swing his legs over the side, Dan's hand was closing gently around his wrist. Brought to a halt, Phil turned his head on the pillow they shared to face him, lips close enough to brush against each other when Dan spoke.  
  
“Where do you think you're going, love?” he asked, his voice sleep-warmed and husky. He tugged him a bit closer yet and brought his leg up and over to rest on Phil's thigh, caging him in with his body. He felt Phil shiver as Dan's heavier body pressed him deeper into the mattress and smiled, pressing a kiss to the smooth skin of Phil's jaw.  
  
Phil tipped his head back, allowing Dan's mouth to wander as he let out a content sigh. “Danny, I have to get to the saloon.”  
  
But he let Dan take his wrists in one big hand, drawing them up over his head as he rolled to cover him completely. Phil gave a strangled moan as their cocks rubbed together, slick with sweat and come from earlier, and brought his legs up to wrap around Dan's hips as he moved against him. Dan kept his thrusts smooth and firm, holding Phil's arms held tight against the mattress until Phil came with a cry that was muffled by Dan's fingers pressed gently against his lips. Dan sat back on his heels and took himself in hand, bringing himself off with a few rough tugs, his come joining Phil's smeared across his groin.  
  
Later when they were clean and dressed, Phil again made to leave only to be stopped once more by Dan's hand on his wrist. When he stopped and looked up Dan, a question in his eyes, Dan pulled him closed for a tight hug and whispered in his ear, “I love you, Phil.”  
  
Phil had given him that sweet, shy smile and pressed a kiss to his cheek before whispering, “I love you too, Danny.” He slipped out the door and into the evening light, ready for yet another long night.

 

***

  
October 17, 1852  
  
Dan always knew that staying too long in one place was a bad idea. He just never expected his downfall to come in the form of a gentle man with a smile that lit up his insides. But when he walked into the saloon that October evening and caught sight of Phil behind the bar, he knew that things would never be the same.  
  
The saloon was surprisingly empty for the time of night and when Phil raised his head and looked at Dan, he immediately knew why. A gasp punched the air from his lungs, and he nearly tripped over his boots in his rush toward the bar.  
  
Phil's hair was even more disheveled than usual and a lived bruise was swelling one of his sky-blue eyes shut. His lip was split with dried blood dribbled down his chin, one cheekbone scraped raw by the rough knuckles that had landed there, and when Dan grabbed onto his arms, he let out a small cry of pain as Dan's fingers sunk into the bruises dotting the soft flesh.  
  
“Phil! What the hell happened? Who did this to you?” Dan asked frantically, his hands coming up to cup Phil's face.  
  
Phil's eyes were glassy with pain and fear, his lips trembling with suppressed pain. He brought the wet cloth in his hand back up to his eye, holding it against the swelling as he exhaled a shaky sigh.  
  
“It was Stanton,” Phil murmured as he drew in on himself. “He caught me in the alley and wanted me to...wanted-”  
  
“Phil!”  
  
“But I wouldn't,” Phil continued defiantly, his good eye flashing with anger and pride. “I said no and he called me names and well...”  
  
Dan pulled him in for a tight hug, pressing a gentle kiss to the undamaged cheek while rage swirled through his body.  
  
“I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry I wasn't there. But he'll never hurt you again,” Dan promised, his voice tight with anger. “I'm sure he'll be here soon, he can't pass up a game of cards. And he'll want to see what he's done to you.”  
  
“I'll make him pay, Phil.”  
  
**  
  
When Stanton swaggered in later, Dan was ready. He'd helped patch Phil up as best he could before getting the table ready for their nightly round of gaming. He struggled to keep his cool, especially when Stanton kept send smug glances in Phil's direction as if he was pleased with the damage he'd done. But he held himself together and enacted his plan.  
  
Dan had always been a scrupulously honest gambler. He couldn't abide a cheater or a trickster and flat out refused to participate in any sort of stakes that would leave a man destitute. Tonight, however, he pulled every dirty trick in the book in order to ruin George Stanton.  
  
He counted cards. He hid face cards up his sleeve. He dealt from the bottom. Anything he could get away with, he tried, and his luck held. He won steadily and without detection until Stanton threw in his final handful of coins...and lost. George Stanton was bankrupt and Dan held his IOU.  
  
Dan leaned back in his chair and waited, cold now with a simmering anger. Stanton gaped at him in horrified shock before his face hardened into a mask of rage as he jumped to his feet. His face was red with fury, and his voice shook with it.  
  
“You dirty fucker! I know damn well you cheated, Howell. I know a cheat when I see one,” Stanton bellowed, his arm sweeping across the table to scatter the coins and paper money to the floor.  
  
Dan turned back from watching the contents of the table skitter across the room to find Stanton's gun drawn and held in front of his face. He cursed himself for taking his eyes off of him and felt a bead of sweat slid down his cheek.  
  
“Now Stanton, you know I'm not a cheat,” Dan said, trying to keep his voice steady and reasonable. Stanton looked like he was ready to snap and Dan was afraid of setting him off. “Don't worry, you can pay me in installments. I won't let you go hungry.” He couldn't see Phil from this position, but he hoped he'd left the saloon, that he'd gotten to safety somewhere. He refused to let Stanton hurt him again.  
  
“I'm not paying you a damn thing, Howell. You're going to disappear, and nobody but Blue will miss you. But he won't miss you for long,” he sneered. He cocked the gun and pressed it to Dan's forehead, his voice a sibilant hiss in the nearly silent room. “When I get my hands on him, I'm going to make him sorry he ever told me no, that little sh-”  
  
The sound of hickory cracking George Stanton's skull was horrifying obscene. Phil had swung with all of his might, putting all of his fear for Dan into it, and Stanton dropped to the floor without a sound. Phil stood there panting, his face bloodless, before he dropped the length of wood to rub his hands frantically against his pants.  
  
Dan leaped to his feet and pulled Phil to him in a tight embrace. They took comfort in each other briefly before Phil pulled away. Dan expected him to be hysterical, but he was eerily calm as he stood over the body of the man he had just killed. Dan suspected he was in shock but they had no time to deal with it now.  
  
“Dan? What am I going to do?” Phil's voice was quiet and slightly flat, fear creeping in at the edges. He looked up at him blankly and waited for Dan's guidance.  
  
Dan grabbed one of his hands and brought it to his lips. “ **We** , Phil. It's we. And now we run.”  
He tugged him toward the back of the saloon, hoping to sneak out the back and gather their things from his room before tonight's events were discovered. “How would you like to meet my mum?”

***

  
October 30, 1852

_Hello mum,  
_

_Well, we've gotten into a spot of trouble, Phil and me._  
_I know that I should have been more careful, should have left this terrible little town months ago. But Phil was still saving his earnings and I couldn't bear to leave without him. We did our best to lay low, to stay inconspicuous, but Stanton had a string of losses at the table and a_ grudge _a mile long. He went for Phil one night and roughed him up a bit before someone came along to break it up._  
_I'm not proud of what I did, but you wouldn't blame me if you could see the bruises on Phil's arms, the black eye and split lip that man left on him. I was so angry, Mum, and I wanted him to pay. So I_ cheated _him. I cheated_ at _the table and won all of his money and smirked at him to make him angry. And angry he was._  
_He pulled his gun and had it to my head before I could move. I thought it was the end of me, and I was sure sorry that I wouldn't see your face one last time. But when I looked up, I saw Phil behind him and well, Phil took care of Stanton._  
_We snuck out of town in the dead of night, before Stanton's body could be found and are making our way back east. I'm hoping you won't turn us away, Mum. We could both use a bit of mothering, Phil more so than I. I know you'll love him as much as I do._  
  
_Soon, Mum._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> you can like/reblog on [tumblr](https://capriciouscrab.tumblr.com/post/177151253510/burden-and-blame-rating-mature-word-count-34k) if you'd like :-)


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